


Damage Done

by keraunoscopia



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, M/M, Mildly happy, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Destruction, more hopeful than happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 17:52:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13839939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keraunoscopia/pseuds/keraunoscopia
Summary: I see the needle and the damage done. A little part of it in every one. But every junkie's like a setting sun."You guys weren’t supposed to find me.”There it is. Sonny thinks part of him suspected that anyway. This is Rafael licking his wounds, Rafael realizing, or suspecting, or regretting the gravity of the decisions he’s made. It’s the only thing that explains what a mess the man in front of him, usually so poised and proper, has become.





	Damage Done

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [Castle by Slum Sociable](https://youtu.be/-0WJRyceCjk)

Sonny isn’t quite sure what draws him to the bar. It’s not his usual haunt by any stretch of the imagination. The windows are too dark to see inside, the paint is peeling and flaking off the sign above the door and the neon hue of the Genesee sign is broken up into bits and pieces, hollow tubes cracked in places so much that Sonny might not have been able to tell what it had been trying to say if he didn’t already know. 

He doesn’t even really intend to go to a bar. It’s a pleasant evening, a warm reprieve from a harsh winter that still hasn’t quite faded away completely. Sonny had figured that walking the few extra blocks instead of catching the train from the precinct would do his mind some good. He’s still reeling from the events a few weeks before, the murder trial, the sudden departure of their beloved ADA, _their_ punctuated in his mind for reasons he doesn’t want to think about right now. 

But he swings open the door to the bar, splintered and dirty glass, with a bit more force than necessary and steps into acrid humidity. He sucks in a hot breath, and his eyes immediately fall on a figure in the corner, half splayed across the bartop. 

Coincidence?

Sonny’s not sure he believes in coincidence really, he has too much faith in god’s plan, so this has to mean something. He pushes through the crowd of rowdy people, sweat slicked and the stench of booze flooding his senses before he reaches the bar. 

He says nothing as he settles in the seat next to the man and his index and middle fingers strikes the lacquered bar top with a thud as he asks the bartender to bring him whatever’s on draft. He suspects it’s the accent that draws the attention of the man next to him, more so than his presence. 

“What’re you doing here?” Rafael pushes himself up from the bar, green eyes cloudy and heavy lidded, his speech is slurring together into a rhythm Sonny’s never heard before, and if Sonny hadn’t studied the features of the man’s face so often for all these years, he might not have even recognized him. His black hair is mussed, bits sticking up towards the back, and its grown out, not a lot, but just enough that he doesn’t have the right sort of shape. Beads of sweat are lingering against his hairline, dissolving into the hot red flush of whiskey on his cheeks. Sonny notes that he’s never seen Rafael looking so casual, only a black teeshirt, near threadbare and stretched out, and jeans. This isn’t the Rafael he knows.

“I was walking by,” Sonny replies, nodding his thanks to the bartender as a pint glass is set in front of him, and he takes a long sip, cringing through the acrid lukewarm taste on his tongue. “Figured I’d grab a drink before heading home. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Rafael turns away from him, staring down into the rocks glass in front of him, near empty just a hint of amber liquid at the bottom. Just the movement is enough for Sonny to catch the heavy whiff of alcohol on Rafael’s skin. It tells him that Rafael’s not just drunk, that he’s been here for a while. His eyes move to the pile of bills on the sticky bar top and he counts them quickly. Forty dollars, in a mix of tens and fives. Sonny knows that Rafael tips four bucks a drink. Or at least he always did. Maybe it’s different now, but he figures ten drinks is probably a good bet considering the way Rafael seems to be swaying in his seat, like he’s rocking in ocean waves. 

“Don’t you have work to do?” Rafael remarks dryly, picking up the glass to empty it in one quick tip of his head, and he chuckles more to himself than anything. “I sure as hell don’t. What’s your excuse?”

Sonny watches in slow motion as the heavy glassware slips from Rafael’s hand, its heavy base striking the corner of the bar before tumbling to the floor, glass shards skittering everywhere. Sonny hadn’t gotten a good vibe from the bartender in the first place, but he whirls around, dark eyes flashing dangerously and growls a sharp “get out,” to Rafael. 

Rafael pushes himself up, hands splayed across the wooden edge. Sonny can feel the tension, the fight radiating off Rafael. That mouth has always been particularly good at getting the lawyer, or former lawyer in trouble, so Sonny turns immediately, but Rafael stumbles anyway, nearly falling off the bar stool into Sonny’s side. 

“Let’s get you out of here,” Sonny mutters, digging into his pocket for a few crumpled bills, laying them next to his half finished drink, and he hauls Rafael off the stool. 

The words of protest fall on deaf ears, and Sonny’s not sure they were really part of the English language anyway. His stomach churns uncomfortably as Rafael slings an arm over Sonny’s shoulders, and he has to slouch a little bit so that Rafael can reach. They’ve never been this close before, he can’t help but think to himself, even with the sickening stench of sweat and booze lingering. 

The cool fresh air seems to help Rafael steady on his feet, just a bit, and Sonny notes that they’re not too far from Rafael’s apartment. Or at least the apartment he had been living in back when he’d been getting those death threats. 

“Do you still live at the same place?” Sonny asks, but keeps his eyes straight ahead as they begin their unsteady stumbling stroll down the sidewalk. 

“Until they evict me for non-payment of rent because I’m jobless,” Rafael mutters. “Why were you in that bar?” He’s asked this before, so Sonny’s not sure if its a memory thing or if Rafael just wasn’t satisfied with his answer the first time around. But Sonny really can’t say, because he doesn’t know. Maybe this, he contemplates. Maybe God knew Rafael needed someone. Either way, Sonny’s glad it gets to be him. The pause before his answer is apparently unsatisfactory, and Rafael continues anyway, “its not a cop bar, I never used to go there. You guys weren’t supposed to find me.”

There it is. Sonny thinks part of him suspected that anyway. This is Rafael licking his wounds, Rafael realizing, or suspecting, or regretting the gravity of the decisions he’s made. It’s the only thing that explains what a mess the man in front of him, usually so poised and proper, has become.

Rafael’s building is only two blocks, but he’s so unsteady on his feet that it takes them nearly twenty minutes do make the walk. Sonny flashes his charming smile to the doorman, who just shoots Rafael a disapproving look and lets them in. Sonny’s thankful for the elevator, because Rafael’s leaning more heavily against him, body sagging from exhaustion or the alcohol or a combination of both, and for as much as he likes to tell himself he’s a relatively fit person, he knows he doesn’t have it in him to carry the solid weight of Rafael up ten flights of stairs.

He has to brace Rafael up against the door to dig keys out of his pocket, and really it’s not an intimate gesture, he can’t even count how many times he’s taken home drunk college or law school buddies, or cop friends. But with Rafael it feels intrusive and intimate, he can feel the heat of Rafael’s skin through the thin fabric of the pocket against his thigh, sense of proximity heightened. 

Sonny breathes a sigh of relief when his fingertips find purchase on the cool metal of his key ring, and he fumbles for a bit to find the right key to match the lock. 

“Sorry,” Rafael slurs as Sonny helps him across the threshold and towards the bedroom. He remembers the layout from when he took point on Rafael’s security, but the context here seems so much different. Rafael is so much more vulnerable now, and Sonny’s not here as a cop, but a friend. Or at least he’d like to think Rafael considers him a friend. 

Sonny fights back the pang in his stomach that reminds him friends isn’t really what he wants either. 

He leaves Rafael leaning against the bed, fumbling with the button of his jeans, because Sonny knows he can’t stay for this, its a violation, too much. Instead he turns his back and heads to the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets to find aspirin, and he fills a glass with water from the sink before heading back to the bedroom, hoping that Rafael has managed on his own. 

When Sonny walks in, Rafael’s stripped down to just a pair of boxers, laying face first in the pillows, and Sonny can hear the steady in and exhale of his breath. Passed out. He sets the glass of water and the pills on the nightstand. Rafael will undoubtedly be in a world of hurt in the morning, and it’s then that he notices the bottles, empty and scattered on the floor, expensive scotch bottles, and the less expensive brands as well, at least a dozen of them, and his stomach churns again.

With an unsteady hand, he hovers over Rafael, and lets a gentle hand fall to his bare shoulder, skin scalding against his fingertips. “I know this isn’t the life you wanted, or expected it to be,” he mutters softly, even though he knows that Rafael can’t hear him, “I know you don’t feel the same way about me, but I’ve got you, Rafael, I’ll always be here.” 

He texts Rafael the next morning, just to check and make sure everything’s okay, but by lunchtime he hasn’t heard anything, so he calls instead. 

Sonny’s toe taps an impatient rhythm against the tile floors of the precinct as the phone rings, and rings, and rings again. He hangs up when it hits voicemail, and calls again. By the time the lieutenant tells him he can go home for the day, his stomach is twisted in knots, head hurtling through disaster scenarios at warp speed. He should have stayed, should have made sure that Rafael didn’t puke in his sleep, didn’t aspirate, didn’t slip into a dreamless sort of sleep that you can’t wake up from. On his way home from the precinct, he can’t help himself, he takes a detour to walk by Rafael’s apartment building, flashes his badge at the doorman who likely recognizes him from the night before anyway, and elects to take the stairs, because he needs the time, and the exertion, to steady the anxiety blossoming uncomfortably in his lungs. 

When he reaches the door, he pauses for a moment, listening for movement. He hears the clink of a glass, he thinks, maybe the sound of a bottle set down on a wooden table. Undeniable life behind the thick oak door. Relief floods his system like a cool wave, and he knocks on the door. 

He waits, and waits, but there’s no acknowledgment or indication that his knock had been heard, so he knocks again. Still nothing. 

“Rafael? It’s Carisi,” he calls through the door, the undeniable authority he uses for work is laced through his voice, a tool he hopes will draw out the lawyer, but still nothing. “Can you just let me know you’re okay?” He asks, quieter this time, but still loud enough to breach the barrier between them. He lets his forehead fall against the hardwood, and sighs heavily. “Please?” 

But there’s no answer. In fact, he doesn’t hear anything from Rafael for nearly four months. He tries, of course. He texts daily, calls almost as often, drops by the apartment every once in a while to plead through that oak door. He can feel the desperation growing every day, the twisting in his stomach, gnawing at him from the inside out. But his phone calls still go to voicemail, and texts never go undelivered, and he takes solace in knowing that at least Rafael hasn’t blocked his number. The door man still lets him up without flashing his badge. Nothing from Rafael is really telling him to keep trying, but nothing is telling him to stop, so he won’t, or can’t, he’s not sure there’s a difference anymore.

Every spare moment, Sonny feels, is consumed with concern, with thoughts of Rafael. When he settles into the crook of his couch, a hot mug of tea in his hands, he can feel the worry settling over him like a shroud. The moment tension from the day melts away, he’s left with nothing but this. He glances out the window of his little apartment, curtains drawn back, moonlight and city lights streaming through smudged and dusty glass. 

He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t hear the heavy thud against his door at first, or he hears it and it doesn’t register. In any case, he jumps at the dawning recognition of the sound, and hot black tea sloshes over the side of the mug, and he hisses as it burns his hand. Sonny shakes off the droplets and sets the mug on his coffee table, glancing at his watch. It’s nearly four am and there’s absolutely no explanation he can think of for the sound at his door, but curiosity is a powerful drug, and he stands, crossing the room in a few long strides. 

When he opens the door he’s stunned, thinks maybe he’s seen a ghost, or fallen asleep, maybe it’s some sort of fever dream, maybe he’s fallen into a wormhole to a parallel dimension, because all of these scenarios seem more likely than Rafael Barba standing at his door at four am, breathless and beaming. 

“Rafael?” Sonny asks to confirm, not sure what answer he’s actually expecting though. 

Sonny can see Rafael’s mouth moving, knows that there’s a stream of consciousness falling off his tongue with a staccato fervor, but Sonny’s not sure what he’s saying, too focused on the way that Rafael’s stepping forward, crowding into his physical space. Rafael’s chest, stomach, hips press against Sonny’s lanky form hands circling around his hips. 

Lips brush his neck, and the words that Sonny hasn’t actually heard fall off into silence. With it comes startling clarity. He’s high. 

Sonny stumbles backwards, pulling away from Rafael’s grasp, and he can see the hurt and confusion flashing across soft features, mossy green eyes. “Rafael, stop,” Sonny sucks in a shallow breath, trying to ignore the effects still persisting of just that illusory contact. He wants it, wants him, but not like this. 

With the space between them settled, Sonny can see the glazed over cloud across green eyes, and he can see the dotted angry track marks against the pale skin of his forearm. His breath is an unsteady thrum, chest rising and falling and the air crackles with electricity. 

Rafael takes an uneasy step forward, and the door swings shut behind him. Sonny swallows hard. 

“Don’t you want me?” His words are slurred, but they’re the first that Sonny actually registers, and his chest clenches. Sonny wants to say yes, of course he does. If the circumstances were different, he thinks to himself, he’d drop to his knees in a heartbeat. But he can’t. 

He takes a step closer to Rafael, and reaches out a trembling hand to wrap around Rafael’s forearm, thumb digging into his skin just a little harder than he intends to. “Raf, what have you done?” He asks with wide wet eyes, trained on the track marks. 

He should have tried harder, should have called more, should have reached out to one of Rafael’s friends, or his family, should have busted through the door. Rafael’s been suffering alone for four months, and Sonny had promised him four months ago that he’d always be there. Apparently it wasn’t enough. 

Rafael’s body sags, face falling with shame, or fear or something else entirely, and Sonny coaxes him to the couch. Sonny settles next to him and their knees bump and brush against each other but neither pulls away. The rush of excitement that had carried Rafael to his door has faded into a languid, exhausted haze. Sonny knows how to handle drunk, but he doesn’t know how to handle this. 

“You can stay here tonight,” he finally says after a few lingering moments of silence. “We have to talk in the morning, though.” Rafael nods, eyelids drooping with the threat of sleep. Sonny says nothing further, just guides Rafael to his bedroom, offers a pair of pajamas and the bed, grabbing a spare pillow and blanket from the hall closet. He’d give up his bed any day of course, but it’s more calculated than that now, he doesn’t want Rafael to be able to escape while Sonny’s still asleep. 

Its nearly six before Sonny lets sleep take him, fitful and fighting. It’s not that he’s not tired, exhaustion had settled into his bones hours ago, but his mind is still racing, thoughts of Rafael. He runs through this strange sequence of events over and over, over the last four months, over and over. 

Sonny rises first, which is no surprise to him, but its already past noon and really he’s not sure what to do. He putters around his apartment, makes himself a sandwich for lunch that sits uneaten on the counter as his stomach churns. He dusts, and mops, scrubs every inch of his gas range with diluted bleach, and he checks on Rafael, almost can’t help himself. He leaves the door cracked, and settles against the door jam every half hour or so, soothing the anxiety in his stomach with the steady sound of Rafael’s soft snoring. 

Some hours later, Rafael stumbles out of the bedroom with bed disheveled hair, and a groggy glaze over his eyes. His hand is on his forearm, covering the track marks but Sonny can see the way he seems to tremble, and there’s the slick sheen of sweat over every inch of him. 

“Sorry,” Rafael mutters before Sonny has a chance to say anything, but he drops to the couch, and Sonny recognizes the expression, fighting back a wave of nausea. “I’ll get out of your hair. I’m sorry I showed up at your doorstep.” 

Sonny shakes his head and pours a glass of filtered water from the fridge. He offers it to Rafael, dropping to sit on the coffee table across from him. His gaze traces every inch of the broken man, his own expression earnest and open. “You’re not going anywhere, Rafael. I told you last night, we need to talk.” His voice is stern, steady, but it softens when he includes, “I’m glad you did show up though.” 

Rafael’s gaze drops to his lap and he says nothing, Sonny figures he probably doesn’t know what to say, can’t blame him, because even Sonny’s struggling for words. 

“You need help, Rafael, you’re killing yourself,” Sonny cringes at the way his voice breaks. 

“I tried.” Sonny’s stomach clenches, because he’s not sure how Rafael means that, if he means he tried to get help, or if he means he tried to kill himself. Sonny can’t bring himself to ask because he’s afraid of the answer. 

“You can’t keep doing this, the drinking, the drugs…” Sonny trails off again. 

“I tried to stop. But what’s the point? I’ve got no reason to keep trying anymore,” his tone grows more curt, more defensive, more agitated, but it’s not enough to dissuade Sonny, not from this. He can brace himself to take whatever Rafael has to dole out, verbal or otherwise if it means breaking through. 

“Fuck, Rafael, you think the only thing that mattered about you was your job?” Sonny really can’t believe Rafael would ever think that. Cool, collected, suave, undeniably confident Rafael. Surely it wasn’t just the job that made him who he was. “What about your friends, your family? You think the only thing about you that mattered to them was your job?” His hand falls to Rafael’s knee, and he knows his voice has dissolved to near desperate pleading, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

“You know my mother never thought I’d be anything. Never once said she was proud of me until I got that job, not even when I graduated Harvard Law,” Rafael frowned. “My abulita’s gone, no other family left. And friends?” He laughs, a dry sardonic chuckle. “What friends?” 

“What friends?” Sonny furrows his brow, genuinely confused, “why the hell do you think I’ve been texting and calling you constantly, Rafael? I want to be here for you, I care about you, for fuck’s sake, I love you.” The words are out of his mouth before he has time to contemplate the admission. 

Rafael freezes, and looks up slowly, hazy green meeting watery blue, “I’m not worth the trouble.” 

Sonny just shakes his head, “you’ve always been worth fighting for, Rafael, you’re so much more than you give yourself credit for, but you’ve gotta save yourself. I’m going to do everything I can to help you. Even if you don’t feel the same way, I’m here, okay? For everything.”

Rafael lets out a dry laugh, its eerie, doesn’t quite pull his mouth back into a smile, no amusement in his eyes, its twisted and painfully grating in Sonny’s ears. “Don’t feel the same way? Fuck Sonny, I’ve been in love with you since you walked into that god damned precinct with that god damned mustache and a bag of zeppoli. Don’t feel the same way? That’s the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard. Why do you think I stayed away from you for four months? Why do you think I ignored every text, every phone call, every knock on my door? Because I love you, too much to drag you down into this, too much to let you get caught up in my mess. You’re better than that, you deserve better than me.” 

Sonny’s chest clenches painfully. He’s never known Rafael like this, the self-deprecation, the self-loathing. He got a glimpse of it four months ago in a grimy bar, but he’d never expected this. “You think you’re not worth saving,” the words slip off Sonny’s tongue, bitter and soft. 

“I know I’m not. I’m not trying to die, but we both know it’s a matter of time before this gets the best of me,” Rafael hangs his head, and his hand clenches tightly around his forearm, over the marks littering bronzed skin. 

Sonny doesn’t say anything, he just stands up and looks around for a moment before his gaze settles on his cellphone, and he picks it up, scrolling through contacts for a moment. “Don’t leave, I’ll be able to hear the door open if you try.” He doesn’t give Rafael a chance to respond before he disappears into the bedroom, door closed behind him. It’s nearly ten minutes later, when he finally reemerges, tucking his phone into his pocket as he leans against the door frame into the living room. Rafael turns to look at him, dark eyed and impossible to read. 

“I took a week off from work. They’re not going to call, not going to come looking. Day one and two are going to be bad, three’s going to be a hell of a lot worse, but the most of it, it’ll be over in a week. You’re going to stay with me. We’re going to go now, before it really starts to hit you, and we’ll get food, and books and movies, and I’ll do whatever I can to distract you. I’ll get you through this, Rafael, I’ll get you through this, and then after that, we’ll take it one day at a time.”

For the first time since Sonny started talking, Rafael looks up, and Sonny can see the soft glimmer of tears staining his cheeks, but Rafael nods, and that’s enough for him. 

And it’s awful, more than either of them ever could have imagined. Sonny sits on the porcelain tiles of the bathroom floor, rubbing soothing circles on Rafael’s sweat slicked back as he dry heaves, the contents of his stomach long gone. And he wraps Rafael in a second, and a third blanket, trying to quell the violent tremors, the way his body seizes and his teeth chatter so hard Sonny’s worried they might chip. Sonny grits his own teeth through the screaming, and the crying, reminding himself that Rafael doesn’t mean any of the things he says. He let’s Rafael fall asleep, clammy skin pressed against his side as he reads Vonnegut aloud for the third time. 

And by the end of the week, Sonny can see a hint of the person he used to know, notes the biting sarcasm hiding soft affection. And he knows there’s a long road ahead, that it’s not as simple as getting through the detox, that the chances of relapse are near certain, but he looks at Rafael, sallow skin perked up just a bit from the day before, sleeping with his head in Sonny’s lap, and Sonny can finally see it, can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel, can finally see that Rafael has hope too.


End file.
